[CW] Slap, slap, slap

[K0HB]

Saw this in another venue.  It has absolutely nothing to do with Amateur
Radio, 
but struck a chord.

The Slap Slap of Signal Light Shutters

    --by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong

I saw a piece in a popular magazine awhile ago. It said that the United
States 
Coast Guard had ceased to teach Morse Code. With all the super techno
whizbang 
communication equipment around these days, I guess 'dits' and 'dahs' are
looked 
upon as primitive communication.

That's a damn pity because there is no more comforting sound than the
rythmic 
slap of the signal light shutters. Watching a competent signalman operate a 
signal light, to me beats watching a concert violinist or an Olympic 
medal-winning ice skater.

There was something about nighttime steaming, transiting the open expanse
of the 
world's oceans and exchanging seemingly meaningless flashes of light that
in 
truth, were an exchange of clear, concise messages. The signalman and the
gentle 
click of the signal light shutter louvers.

"Sir, that's the J. W. WEEKS, DD-701."

"Very well. Ask them if LT Al Timberlake is aboard. I went to the academy
with 
Big Al."

"Aye sir."

"Yessir, he's aboard. LT CDR now."

"Very well. Tell them to relay my compliments and tell Big Al that 'Short
Stack' 
passed him during the midwatch."

Little messages exchanged in darkness. Communication between members of 
America's great saltwater family. Those fingers of light always made me
feel 
that I was a part of a big organization.

Things that were so much a part of our life, have gone out of existence in
the 
ensuing years. They tell me that torpedomen and quartermasters have joined 
gunners mates in the lost ratings of yesteryear. I know nothing lasts
forever 
and that there's nothing worse to subsequent generations than an old
bastard 
reliving cherished memories of the past. But with the navy looking to boost
its 
recruiting, it might be beneficial to revisit some of the things that were
so 
meaningful to the bluejackets who manned our ships long ago.

Tradition is a valuable asset. Not that to honor tradition, you have to set 
aside technological advance. Not at all. But many of the 'sailor skills'
are 
being discounted. Consider this. In battle, when you lose power and your 
computer-generated mo-jo is lost, or your batteries run out. Or the enemy 
detonates some hootenanny that scrubs your database. Will there be anyone
who 
can take a legitimate sextant observation?

What happens if the bad guys find a way to negate satellite positioning?
What 
happens to the poor bastards bobbing around in a lifeboat with a signalman
and 
an operating flashlight?

How can you call a man an American bluejacket who can't tie a bowline or
read 
flags? At some point, you stop being a bluejacket and become a technician. 
That's a sad fact, but a fact, nonetheless.

The navy used to sell salt water adventure. It used to fill its recruiting 
offices with posters of smiling bluejackets visiting exotic ports. Ships at
sea. 
Extolling the qualities found in elite service like submarines. Now, you
see 
posters promising monetary incentives, education benefits and pledges of 
high-level technical training. It is not an 'All for the Navy' navy,
anymore. 
It's a 'What's in it for me?' navy. You can see the effect on the
boatservice. 
Interchangeable crews. That's like a shared bride.

Somebody needs to reinitiate the concept of 'a lad and his boat'. I see
nuclear 
power sailors with the names of a dozen boats embroidered on their vests.
How 
can a lad develop love and loyalty to twelve boats? Simple answer. He can't.

We need to figure out some way of reconnecting men with ships. We need to 
develop, to reestablish the relationship between sailors and their ships.
We 
need to shitcan the term, 'Get my ticket punched on such and such a ship.'
I 
find the term 'ticket punched' repulsive. I rode with men who truly loved
the 
ship. She has been ours for better than 45 years and will continue to be
until 
the day we leave the planet. It is sad that with the 'interchangeable
parts' 
commands of today, a boatsailor doesn't develop the love we were given.

But, as I said earlier, there's nothing worse than a nostalgic old coot
who's 
out of step with the march of time. An old sonuvabitch whose era has come
and 
gone.

But you can't fault a man who loved his service. The men. His wardroom. His 
boat. An old bastard who can still hear the gentle slap, slap, slap of the 
bridge signal light shutters.
--
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